


You Are My Sun

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is Whipped (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), References to Shakespeare, Wholesome, aziraphale may have 'dated' oscar wilde
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 14:14:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21037541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Crowley & Aziraphale see Romeo and Juliet. Crowley isn't a big fan of it. But he is whipped and will do anything for his angel, so he woos his husband by quoting the play over wine and getting jealous about said husband's alleged past flings... It's super fluffy and domestic!





	You Are My Sun

The past twenty minutes, Crowley had been whining like a little kid. He kicked his legs and made rude comments under his breath. He even tried feigning sickness to get out of it all. However once Aziraphale gave him the look, the behavior ceased at once. It was a glare the angel used only on special occasions when Crowley was the one to get carried away (which contrary to popular belief, happened way more than the other way around). On this occasion, Crowley hadn’t meant to get that out of hand. It sort of just happened. In his defense, Aziraphale knew he had a very short attention span at times and having to sit this long was not a good idea on account of Crowley’s fondness of mischief. 

The play was three hours long, a Shakespearian piece the angel had seen many times before. Personally, Romeo and Juliet had never interested the demon much. Perhaps it was the lack of excessive violence or all the boring soliloquies about tragic love… At least in Hamlet everyone died, but that one was dreadfully dull too. Regardless, Aziraphale was a sucker for all of the poet’s cheesy old stories. Crowley would rather just skip to the part where the lovers die. 

“It was better in the medieval times.” He whispered to Aziraphale.

The angel was fully immersed in the current scene, a dorky smile plastering his face as Romeo compared his crush to the sun or whatever. He was so smitten by the dialogue he ignored his lover’s comment completely, and took Crowley’s hand in his. He leaned over closer to the demon, eyes never leaving the stage as he sighed happily.

“It’s marvelous, isn’t it, Crowley? The way Shakepeare wrote… it's so ...romantic in a sense.”

“Well… that’s the point… romance…. They obviously love each other…” Crowley blushed, heart fluttering at the way his angel looked so utterly happy. 

“Yes, but they can’t be together. It’s so unbearably sad.” He looked over to Crowley, blue eyes sparkling and on the verge of tears, “It reminds me of all those years we spent thinking we could never--”

“Hush angel, no need to get soft,” the red-head couldn’t help but squeeze the other’s hand, looking at him adoringly. Aziraphale was such a funny being, “We’re together now and I don’t plan on going any slower for the rest of forever.”

“Oh, my darling boy…” The angel’s face flushed the color of peonies as he struggled for words to say.

“Just enjoy the play. Afterwards, we can get all sentimental over a bottle of wine.”

“I reckon I do fancy some alcohol after this.” The angel wiggled happily in his seat, “And perhaps a cake? One from the bakery across the shop? I’ve already been thinking about my order all day.”

“A strawberry delight cake, an order of macarons, and let me guess… you want a dozen of those giant chocolate chip cookies you’ve been dying to try.” Crowley grinned.

He was absolutely delighted at the joyous little gasp the angel let slip immediately, and even more delighted when Aziraphale leaned his head on his shoulder.

“Oh, I simply don’t deserve you my dear! Some days I’d say you know me better than the almighty.”

Crowley couldn’t hide the lovestruck, dopey smile that tugged at his lips, so he buried it in lavender-scented curls. He could withstand a boring play if it would make his angel happy.

***

With an arsenal of sweets spread on the table and wine in their glasses, both the angel and the demon were having quite a pleasant afternoon. It was October, much too chilly to be canoodling outside, so instead, they lounged on the sofa and used each other for body heat. Crowley nestled into Aziraphale’s side, quite content as he sipped at a white wine from 1763. The angel had just finished a slice of his beloved cake. 

“That was scrumptious. If loving fondant is a crime, consider me guilty as charged!” Again, that ridiculous little happy wiggle. 

Crowley couldn’t help but chuckle, “So Shakespeare and sugar are your vices, are they angel?”

Aziraphale gave him a bashful smile, “Well, I have always been partial to his work. Oscar Wilde has some lovely pieces as well…”

“Angel…” The demon’s feathers would’ve been ruffled if present. He didn’t miss the cheeky little glint in those blue eyes.

“Now don’t be ridiculous, Crowley,” Aziraphale tutted, “ He passed on a long time ago. There is no need for your jealousy.” 

He had a point, but still. Crowley relaxed a bit and set his wine glass down onto the table. Still, the alcohol had made him feel even more mischievous than he usually was, so he wasn’t going to drop the subject quite yet. 

“You know, I’m sure he told you oh so many pretty words, but did he ever make The Velvet Underground write a song about you?” His eyebrows wiggled.  
“No… but that hardly has--”

“Did he ever… make you feel so good your wings popped out during--”

“Crowley!”

The demon couldn’t help but giggle at the angel’s scandalized gasp and hold him closer in his arms. He leaned in and calmed his lover with a gentle kiss.

“I’m joking, angel. Of course I know I’m better than him in every single way. And that he can’t compare in terms of love or sex appeal.” 

“You are wicked, my dear boy,” Aziraphale looked at him lovingly and sighed, “I must admit, he never made this heart of mine beat this way… no matter what pretty words were spoken.”

Crowley beamed (mostly in love, but there was a significant part of him that relished in his lover saying he was superior to the dusty old writer). 

“I love you, my dear. Madly.” The angel smiled and pulled him in closer to kiss him again. 

Crowley sighed happily, “I love you too, angel… for I am the east and you are the sun.”

“So you do like Shakespeare!” Aziraphale grinned.

“Hardly. I just know a few lines… for science.” Crowley reddened, “And for a certain principality…”

Aziraphale melted in his arms and looked at him with pure adoration, “Recite me some more?”

“I’m not sure I know anymore.”

“Please, dear… It made me so happy.”

Aziraphale gives him the look, this one the look of pleading blue that Crowley can never refuse. So, he runs a hand through pearlescent curls and smiles gently.

“Two of the fairest stars in all of heaven… Shakespeare was right with that line, angel. He must’ve been looking into your eyes.”

The sunshine smile he gets in return is worth watching an entire lifetime of boring plays. The angel kisses him sweetly and Crowley feels his heart flutter again.

He’d do anything for his angel, even convince a certain playwright to put a certain metaphor about the sun and moon in his play that he had written about a certain love of his life. He’d never admit it though… Shakespeare was lame.


End file.
